In the Wake of the Stars
by alwaysflying
Summary: A spark materializes, sizzles for a moment, and then burns out. Its brief existence is filled, however, with enough passion to last forever. Oneshot sequel to Streetlights and Starlight.


**In the Wake of the Stars**

**Author's Notes: This is a one-shot sequel to _Streetlights and Starlight_.**

Weeks have passed. Things have changed. The circle of life moves on.

The day after "the incident," Mark returned, holding in his hands a card and a box of chocolates. He asked repeatedly for Roger's forgiveness, though never quite apologized, and even went so far as to inform Roger that he was being a dramatic asshole who just didn't know how to be in a relationship, that relationships just _worked like that_, it wasn't abuse. Roger did not believe him.

Maureen watched this, gaze sharp, hand on Roger's shoulder to prevent him from reacting rashly. She murmured encouraging words during and following this exchange, and held him as he sobbed once Mark stormed out, slammed the door, and left a bloody imprint of his knuckles on the wall. "Anger management," she murmured in Roger's ear, rocking him back and forth with his head pressed into Maureen's shoulder. "It's okay. It's okay. It's okay, Roger…"

It was later that day that Benny and Cindy returned from what was an all-night affair beginning the previous morning. Cindy immediately packed up her belongings and exited swiftly, but Benny found himself drawn to Roger and Maureen and Collins, the three of whom remained on the couch with a monotonous topic circulating that appeared to be about cyanide. Benny interrupted to ask why Roger was curled up in a foetal position with his thumb in his mouth, and Maureen casually remarked that Mark could not be allowed to return to the loft, because he was a violent asshole and he wrecked the wall.

"What the fuck… what are you talking about?" Benny asked.

Maureen, Collins, and Roger simultaneously pointed to the bloody knuckle-prints on the wall. Benny winced. "Um, yeah," he said slowly. "He… he has one of those stress balls. The squeeze ball things. I think it's fair to say he forgot to use his today?"

Forced laughter came from Roger, and Maureen, seeing how truly anguished he was, leaned Roger's head onto her lap and began stroking his hair. "Just call Mark and make sure he knows he can't come back," she cautioned Benny, and watched as Roger's eyes drooped closed.

"Yeah," Benny said. "I'll… I'll do that."

And so he did.

Mark's removal from the loft, however, was only Part A of Roger's healing process. Parts B through D involved the gentle comfort he received from his loftmates – Benny, Collins, and his brand-new roommate, Maureen (who assured Roger that she was now officially a lesbian, and took comfort in the fact that Roger claimed to be no longer on the market for anyone, male or female).

When it had been a full week since Mark's ultimate departure, Maureen insisted on a drinking party. Roger acquiesced with much coaxing, but insisted on choosing the "poison" – a particularly cheap brand of vodka oft-purchased by Collins in lieu of the slightly more expensive (but still by no means costly) Stoli.

The drinking party, however, failed when an intoxicated Roger ingested an obscene amount of alcohol and found, before he knew what had happened, his face pressing into the surface of the table. From there he was heaved to his room by Benny and Collins, both of whom then proceeded to collapse on the couch and drink some vodka on their own. When the bottle was completely empty, Maureen made a show of pretending to hurl it out the window; the passers-by made too much noise for her liking, and it would have been uproarious, in her opinion, to shatter the glass bottle in such a way that glass poked into their bodies and an enormous commotion was produced.

Commotions, after all, are Maureen's reason for living.

If that is the case, then Benny's is ambition, and Collins', then, must be love.

It is fairly difficult to ascertain what Roger's reason for living might be, because there are so many possibilities. It is a matter of knowing the tiny details about Roger; knowing that he has nightmares and has since childhoold, knowing that he was afraid of fire until the fateful day when a candle dripped wax onto his finger during one of his suicidal spells.

Roger is one for enjoying sparks. Sparks are everything to him, they make up his world; without a spark, he would not have left Scarsdale, would not have lived on the street, would not have gotten into drugs and would not have fallen in love. Without a spark there would be no Mark, but that is merely one negative case in which sparks have failed Roger.

A spark is surely synonymous with excitement, then, and excitement with passion. Passion, then, is what Roger lives for. That is something that makes up every bit and piece of his universe, and more than that, it is who he is.


End file.
